Albus Dumbledore and the Deathly Hallows
by biopotter
Summary: Frogspawn, Frappery, and Farting: The story of Albus Dumbledore and Gellert Grindelwald.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Albus Dumbledore and the Deathly Hallows

Author: Biopotter

Rating: 12/13

Summary: Frogspawn, frappery, and farting. AD/GG.

Notes: It's canon! Titter!

* * *

_Dearest Elphias,_

_I am well in health, and everything at home is fine. My responsibilities verge on the burdensome, and I shan't bore you with the details of the spats Aberforth and I entertain._

_While wishing you every success and pleasure on your now-solitary travels, I do hope that you will not abstain from writing to me with details of your adventures. I noticed in your last letter that the formalities outnumbered the vitalities! Do not be concerned that reading about what I am missing will make me resentful or full of woe – I would like nothing more than to wile away the summer evenings indulging in the fantasy that I am anywhere but here._

_Apologies for the shortness of the response, but dinner needs making, and Aberforth's gravy tastes like frog spawn. I promise a longer – and more cheerful – correspondence presently._

_Your friend,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

Albus scrawled his loopy signature and hastily tied the parchment to the leg of Theoprastus, his long-eared owl, who looked at him with orange eyes, eager for flight. Theo disliked being cooped up almost as much as Albus. The owl flapped out of the window with a hoot.

Tapping his way down the stairs, Albus entered their small stone kitchen. Aberforth was standing by the cauldron that hung over the fireplace, using his wand to stir the contents. Wordlessly, Albus summoned some vegetables, potatoes, and a small amount of beef from the pantry. He set the largest knife they had to start chopping them up, and then went over to check the current state of Aberforth's broth.

It was a thin and watery substance, not looking very appetising. Albus hoped that it would thicken up once the main ingredients were added, and hoped the temperature of the fire would be increased to evaporate the excess water. He wanted to suggest these ways for Aberforth to improve the stew, both knowing and not caring that it may start another argument.

'Aberforth? Perhaps a broth slightly _warmer_ than room temperature would look less like a watery swamp.' He said, feigning a helpful tone.

Aberforth tensed. Albus knew he was being deliberately provocative, but why should he care? It was he, Albus, who was in charge of the house now, he upon whom the burdens were falling...

'If you would rather eat swamp,' muttered Aberforth coldly after a long pause, 'than endure my cooking, please feel free.'

'Oh, dear brother, if only I had the luxury. The nearest swamp is leagues away! I couldn't abandon my responsibilities for such frivolities.' With a wave of his wand, the chopped ingredients soared into the broth.

'No? But you can abandon them to scribble on parchment for hours?' Aberforth retorted accusingly.

'That's called writing, Aberforth, and it's what people do when they find themselves with no truly human companionship.'

A sudden, painful silence followed. Albus knew he'd hit a nerve with Aberforth, but guilt swilled in his guts at the unintentional jab at Ariana. This is always what happens when I let my tongue run away with me, thought Albus bitterly, if only things weren't like this...

They continued cooking and ate in silence, with Albus tenderly poking a spoon into Ariana's serene and open mouth between his own spoonfuls. She soon began biting on the end of the spoon, not allowing Albus to remove it, like a growling dog with a stick. Her behaviour when she got like this was unpredictable and unstable, but it always went from bad to worse.

'Ariana, no, let go – Ariana – stop biting, now, please...' Albus tugged harder, and managed to pull it free, refill it, and put it back in. Again, she bit down hard, anger on her face. Albus was not going to let her go hungry because of this, so he continued applying force to the tugging, getting frustrated, and she just bit down harder and harder.

Aberforth looked on with worry, and eventually spoke when it had escalated into almost wrestling. 'Albus, stop, let her be.'

'She needs to eat, Aberforth -' Albus grunted.

'You're making it worse.'

'Pass me my wand -'

'Don't you dare use magic on her!'

Albus turned his attention back to Ariana with a grunt, her hair was magically standing on end, and her face screwed up tight. With all his strength, he couldn't remove the spoon, and his frustration built and built.

'ARIANA, for goodness' sake, why can't you calm down?' He shouted, and with a whoosh of magical wind, the table was cleared of all plates. They all crashed to the floor noisily, along with the spoon which narrowly missed spearing Albus, and he cursed.

'Albus, just let her be. She doesn't want shouting at -'

His patience worn through, Albus stood and rounded on Aberforth. 'If you pride yourself on knowing what's best, then in _your_ hands be it.'

And with that, he stormed out, careful to slam the heavy wooden front door.

Panting, he stomped down the lane towards the centre of the village. He did love his sister dearly, he'd not hesitate to fight off giants with his bare hands to keep her safe, but he had always dreamed he'd be far away, bettering the world for witches like her using his intelligence and daring and adventurous nature. Not at home tending to every outburst and bowel movement. He hated that Aberforth's patience and skill with Ariana outmatched his own. He couldn't handle it any more. His every nerve and cell screamed to get away, but the sinking feeling that called itself duty kept him where he was.

Before the markets closed for the night was the best time to get vegetables cheaply anyway, so Albus directed his slowing footsteps towards the marketplace. After Aberforth had finished his N.E.W.Ts, either he or Albus would be free to gain employment, but until then, they didn't have gold to throw away.

It was the height of summer, and the sky overhead was still light and tinged pink around the edges, and a cool breeze blowed away the day's leftover heat. This side of the town was where the witches and wizards lived, so he ended up passing their houses, including the lonely widow and aspiring historian, Mrs. Bagshot, living in the house next door, and the Doges, who's son Elphias was Albus' best friend. The large, wealthy Potter family lived on the mansion up the steep hill veering away from the village.

Mrs. Bagshot, a witch with a gentle, inquiring intelligence, was the only one who was always kind and helpful to the Dumbledores, even though his mother's pride hadn't let her get very close over the years. Albus did not think that Bagshot knew about Ariana, and did not feel the need to bring her up. Instead, when they passed in the evenings, which they often did, they gabbled pleasantly. She often baked bread to sell at the market, and on her way home she'd offer him some of the bread which hadn't sold. Albus sensed loneliness in her, and also sensed that she saw loneliness in him, too.

On his way back from the market, his basket filled with parsnips, cabbage, potatoes, and sprouts he spotted Mrs. Bagshot coming out of her cottage. Instead of greeting him jovially, looking him up and down and telling him he was getting taller by the second, she ordered him to stay exactly where he was, and hurried back inside.

He heard her shouting inside the house, and he stepped towards her gate, peering through the gathering dusk, calling tentatively. 'Mrs. Bagshot-?'

The next thing he saw, however, wasn't Mrs. Bagshot, but a dazzling headfull of blonde curls surrounding a scowling face, which were followed by a short, thin body as Mrs. Bagshot pushed the girl out into the yard.

'Er – hello,' said Albus, peering past the girl to shoot Mrs. Bagshot a questioning look.

'Albus, meet Gellert, he's my nephew.' Mrs. Bagshot beamed breathlessly, looking between the two, and Albus frowned. Now that they were standing still, he could see that it was, indeed, a boy. They nodded at each other, Albus still not really getting it.

'Can I now go, Auntie Bat?' Said the boy moodily, with a trace of the hardness that came from some Slavic accent. 'I have not yet finished my response to that article in _Transfiguration Today_.'

'Darling, you don't need to. This is who wrote it...' Mrs. Bagshot clapped Albus on the back as Gellert's eyes went from narrowed and annoyed to wide and surprised.

'Dumbledore? Really?' He said incredulously. Seemingly regaining his composure, he smoothed his robes and held out his hand, now beaming. 'Delightful! You must read my ideas!'

Albus shook hands out of politeness, still unable to find many words.

Mrs. Bagshot, looking slightly disappointed at Dumbledore's expression, proceeded to explain. 'I'm sorry this is all of a sudden, Albus... I was so excited about you two meeting, I rather forgot about the formalities.' She shrugged sheepishly.

Albus put on his most serene smile for her. 'Not to worry, Mrs. Bagshot. My manners have not been exemplary either, I admit. I expect I am out of practise; what with one thing and another.'

'And that is precisely why I wished for you and Gellert to meet, I rather think you need more company of your own age and... ability.' Mrs. Bagshot winked.

Ability? Thought Albus. He looked at Gellert, who drew himself up with pride and smiled charmingly, blue eyes glittering. The boy's change of mood was authentic and very flattering – it had been a while since Albus had met a fan, and few of them were younger than a century - but he still wasn't much in the mood. And he had yet to see what was so special about this boy, apart from the qualities that pleased the eye.

'How very nice of you, madam. It was splendid to meet you, Gellert.' Albus lifted his basket higher. 'Now, I must go tend to the rest of my errands before night falls.'

'Oh, of course you must,' said Mrs. Bagshot. 'Have a good night, Albus, and Gellert will be staying some months, if you wish to come round for tea.'

'I'd be delighted.' Albus returned, telling himself he'd think about if it his mood ever picked up.

He bade them a good night and continued home, to find all the plates fixed and gleaming on the shelf, and Aberforth snoring in the rigid wooden chair next to Ariana's bed, his hand still loosely enclosed within hers. Albus heaved a sigh, feeling uselessness wash over him like a thick, heavy liquid. He put the vegetables away and climbed to his own room, pushing the mountain of books and parchment off his bed carelessly, to lay down. That night he dreamed of blue eyes radiating happiness, just out of his reach.


	2. Chapter 2

The following morning, Albus was awoken by an insistent tapping and scratching against the window. He was horrified at first that it was Theo – him being back so soon would mean he had no reply, or had not found Elphias. Untangling himself from the sheets that he had knotted himself in, he took stumbling strides to the window and heaved it open.

It was a bird he was not familiar with, and it landed on his outstretched arm. The folded piece of parchment was clamped in the owl's beak. Albus freed the letter, yawning and rubbing his eyes, and the owl released it's grip, flapped it's wings and settled itself on one of Albus' bedknobs. Unfolding the note, he read groggily:

_Dear Albus Dumbledore,_

_I am writing to you, first and foremostly, to apologise for the dreadful first impression I must have made the day previous. My aunt Bathilda has entrusted me with the task of befriending you, or at least assuring you that I am not – as one might put it – a farting imbecile. But do you not see? The reason for my initial consternation at having to talk to you: a stranger, friend of my batty aunt, was because I was writing to YOU: the most noteable young wizard in England! Inflamer of my intellectual passions!_

_Which leads me to my second reason for this parchment. Having drafted a brilliant response to an article concerning the Principle Exceptions of Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration, I sat and pondered sending my gorgeous eagle owl, Emma, all the way to London in a feeble attempt at getting published, perhaps in a mere 15-20 years! However, to my great and shining fortune, the stupendous Albus Dumbledore – who's mental faculties are not to be engaged lightly, judging by the sharpness of his quill in response to a reader's request for 'saucy portraits' – would be residing not a hare's hop from my quarters!_

_Would you be at all interested in a discussion centred on the nature of Transfiguration and it's limitations? I can think of many that slipped old Gamp's mind._

_Yours in good faith,_

_Gellert Grindelwald_

_P.S. My aunt oversaw the writing of this letter, and she informs me to report her displeasure at 'batty' and the f-word._

Albus, who wasn't fully awake when he opened the letter, certainly was now. His brain was filled with the familiar fireworks of thought, passion, and the fluency of debate. The lyricality of Gellert's prose was the cause, and Albus rummaged on the floor for a spare quill before it even entered his mind to dress. Sitting at his desk, he dipped his quill and drafted a response, occasionally fluttering the quill feather under his chin for inspiration.

_Dear Mr. Grindelwald,_

_I am flattered by your words, and I thank the instiller of your values for teaching you that flattery gets you everywhere, except where you'd need to be to view my saucy portraits. I confess I did not hold you in my thoughts as particularly flatulent, nor as having subnormal intelligence, so the expression of admiration was not entirely needed, not that I am without enormous gratitude._

_I would very much enjoy taking up yesterday's offer of tea, and if it is convenient to Mrs. Bagshot and yourself, I will visit during the early afternoon of today. You undoubtedly know my views on those who attempt to amend Magical Laws and Principles based on their personal restrictions in wandwork, so I hope I shall not have to reiterate them after learning the limitations of which you speak._

_With many kind regards,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

_P.S. If I may suggest to Mrs. Bagshot, a good cleaning out of the mouth works wonders for dirty language. _

Satisfied with this short but succint response, Albus hoped his was light-hearted enough to match Gellert's tone, without descending into ignorance. He turned to see Gellert's owl, Emma, still perching on the bedknob, as if she had been instructed to wait for a reply.

Gellert could not know that Albus' owl was already in use, so he put it down to a general eagerness on Gellert's part for a meeting. He offered Emma the scrolled up parchment, and she took it and fluttered out of the open window. Albus couldn't see Mrs. Bagshot's house from his window, it was a few minutes down the lane, which was heavily flanked by bright, blooming foliage and thick, healthy trees.

After washing and dressing, Albus descended the stairs to a raging Aberforth, who was not happy that Albus had been neglecting his duties.

'... approaching noon, and we have yet to have breakfast because of your indolence!'

'You don't have to wait for me, brother, I am quite capable of feeding myself at whatever time I find suitable.' Albus said, more than a tad disdainfully.

'Yes, _you_ are.' Aberforth scathed, as Ariana wandered in, curious-eyed. 'Not everyone has that privilege.'

Aberforth took Ariana by the shoulder, muttering soothing words, and led her to the sitting room where she had been playing with ragdolls. Dumbledore watched her unfocused eyes and thin, bent frame with sadness and pity welling up, but he honestly could not identify to whom the emotions were directed.

Was he the object of his own pity? Was he truly that selfish? He thought as he prepared bread, cheese, milk and fruits for breakfast. How could he be? He had always been surrounded by medals, prizes, fans – and glory was the most exceptional drug. But he had never actively sought glory: he simply sought to further his own mind, to further the reaches of magic, for the benefit of the entire magical population.

He could justify that the pity he felt was for both himself and his sister – the only help he could provide her was superficial, and clumsy at best. When he sat alone with Ariana he had no ease with her, no comfortable companionship. Not like Aberforth, who could natter away, make her smile, make her calm.

What Albus wanted was to change the way Muggles thought about Magic, so a travesty such as this never occured again, and change the way Wizards and Witches feel about Squibs and ... those in Ariana's condition, so she could receive proper care.

Frustration scraped at Albus' insides as he worked out the loop that was binding him... he needed extra care for Ariana, but that care could only come from St. Mungo's, who, in the current state of things, would commit her to the lifelong ward for painful Magical Therapy and the occasional visit allowance for him to watch her being fed drugging potions – a fate no one wanted for her. If St. Mungo's let go of their mediaevil healing techniques, intent on 'fixing broken magic' more so than caring for patients, and adopted his attitudes, they could lease private Healers to the Dumbledore home to care for Ariana, and keep her safe, happy, and loved. However, without means – the power and prestige, among other things - to voice his attitudes and sway the magical population, how could things ever change?

Oh, Albus lamented, will the perfect world remain tantalisingly out of reach? He carried the trays of breakfast, cut up small for Ariana's benefit, through to where they were sitting. In the time it took Albus to prepare the food, Aberforth had gotten himself a black eye. Albus could not stifle a chuckle.

'Laugh away, if you want a taste!' Aberforth said, the corners of his mouth twitching.

'The colour indeed suits you, Aberforth.'

'Ariana seems to think so.' He replied, as Ariana grinned brightly from behind her ragdoll.

'I can't help thinking I should have been in your place.' Albus muttered, as near to an apology as he was going to utter.

Aberforth wasn't going to hear any of it, he shook his head. 'However much you deserve a good bopping now and again, you'd not have taken it half as well as I, and Ariana would not have such a pretty smile upon her. So it works out for the best.'

Whatever disruptions may occur with her behaviour, Albus knew that Aberforth could never stay angry as long as Ariana was smiling.

Midday was passed with games and songs, performed by Aberforth and a baaing goat. The thing with Ariana, Albus was noticing, was that she reacted to her surroundings. A jolly atmosphere made her happy, and a flower would burst, uncontrolled, from her fingertips. But the magic would frighten her, and she'd whimper and curl up and not allow herself to be soothed for a long time. When the atmosphere was angry or sad or tense, the magic that would burst forth was damaging, and her terror of it was much more protracted.

The clock chimed 2 o'clock, and Aberforth hardly even complained when Albus said he had been invited for tea with Mrs. Bagshot.

'Batty old Bagshot wants to take tea with you?' He said, not knowing about Gellert's visit. 'I say, Albus, maybe you should start officially courting her, before the village gets sordid ideas.'

'Oh, cease your frappery, Aberforth. She will be serving tea, not her maidenhead!'

'That's if she has one.' Aberforth sniggered crudely as Albus left.

All in all, Albus felt particularly more bouyant in spirit as he meandered down the lane. Aberforth, crude and unlettered as he was, wasn't a bad brother, really.


	3. Chapter 3

Albus knocked upon the door of Mrs. Bagshot's cottage, and she opened it welcomingly, the smell of fresh bread rushing to fill his nose pleasantly. He beamed at her as she allowed him inside.

'Good day, Mrs. Bagshot, I hope I find you well?'

'As well as can be expected, with this little rotter!' She gestured behind her at a grinning and waving Gellert. She sounded exasperated, but still in good humour. 'He's too charming for his own good, sometimes...'

'Dumbledore old chap!' Greeted Gellert informally. 'Do sit down, and we can get right to it.'

Albus looked at Mrs. Bagshot for confirmation, and she pushed him gently into the seat opposite Gellert's on the dining table, and moved elsewhere in the house. Albus vaguely wondered why she was not the hostess, but it didn't seem too important, as he was impatient to probe Gellert's mind.

'So, you think you can outsmart Gamp's five Principle Exceptions?' Albus challenged, eyeing this delightfully unknown entity over his glasses.

Gellert shifted himself in his seat, eyes gleaming with confidence. 'Of course, it's only a Magical Thesis, after all.'

'It is a thesis because of the inherent subjectivity of Magic – no wizard's wandwork is identical to anothers', so how can we truly say which magic is unperformable by every wand?' Albus felt the familiar warmth pass through his body as the feeling hit him: ultimate control over his intellect, pushing himself to the limits of his logical reasoning, oh how he had missed this!

'Completely true, but just because we cannot falsify the performability of a spell, is that an ironclad reason to assume it can be done, with the right wand?' Gellert seemed to be feeling the same as Albus, judging by the fiercly intelligent air he was radiating.

'It is not, but we also cannot be closed minded in assuming that just because no one _today_ can perform a spell, does not mean that it has never, nor will ever, be performed.' Albus noted.

'Except Gamp's Exceptions, right?' Gellert smirked.

Albus quirked his eyebrows, feeling as though Gellert was trying to trap him into contradicting himself.

'Are you debating the existence of _fewer_ Exceptions, or _more_? From your letter I gathered you believed there were more.'

Gellert leant forward conspirationally. 'Oh, I do, but I also believe Gamp didn't quite - what is the phrase? - _hit the head of the nail_, with his current five Exceptions, either.'

'You have performed magic to create gold? Or manipulate love? Have you transported knowledge? Materialised edible nutrition? Have you brought someone back from the dead?' Albus heard his voice rising almost accusingly, the shock evident in his expression.

'Not quite, but I have heard tell of objects...' Albus found himself leaning forward, mimicking Gellert until their heads were almost touching. 'Deathly Hallows, that can perform some of these acts.'

Albus drew a blank. He had never heard of any such objects. Reading his face, Gellert grinned. 'Ah, a Hallows virgin! How can you have lived in Godric's Hollow and not have heard of the Hallows?'

Albus felt his cheeks burn. 'Perhaps I do not sit around reading tales of fancy-'

'Now now, it is anything but fanciful!' Gellert's eyes took on a joyful expression. 'Oh, but you must borrow my copy of the Tale!'

He bounded gracefully from the room, towards the stairs. Albus felt alive as he hadn't since... well, he didn't know. Even at Hogwarts, the students did not appreciate his talents, and the teachers were kept far too busy to debate on the finer points of basic magical theory. He remembered his Transfiguration professor, Dippet, getting extremely cross with him for stalling the lesson for almost half an hour because Albus asked a question about magic links with other genetically inherited traits. Apparently it wasn't important to know _how_ Muggle-borns or Squibs were created, just that they _existed._ And the _Transfiguration Today_ warlocks were intelligent, but theirs was an old, dry sort of intelligence, nothing youthful or passionate about it...

Gellert hurried back, carrying a book with a shiny symbol on the front. 'Now, we must talk no more of the Hallows until you have read this book. Also, Auntie Bat is kindly reminding us that we are here for a pleasant _tea_, not a shouting match.' He grinned.

'My most profuse apologies.' Albus grinned back. 'Perhaps you should offer me some of this alleged tea, and I would not have to shout. I get very angry when tea is withheld.'

Gellert's laugh made his eyes sparkle, Albus noticed, as the blonde set about fixing tea and cakes. He did it all wandlessly, including the trip to the well outside to fetch water.

'Require any assistance?' Albus said. He was suddenly struck by the thought: what if he's a Squib? How could he know so much magical theory, if he was?

'Oh, no, Auntie Bat has had me working like a Muggle since I arrived,' Gellert said easily. 'A staunch upholder of the Restriction of Underage Sorcery. Of course, while she's out of wandshot...'

From Albus' puzzled look, Gellert added brightly. 'I'm sixteen.'

'Ah. I do confess...' Albus wasn't sure how to put the thoughts that were spinning in his head. So he simply added, 'I did assume you were of age.'

'A mistake not many make, I can assure you.' Gellert said, all gleaming eyes and teeth, clearly pleased with the compliment. 'Actually, from your article in _Transfiguration_ _Today_, I presumed you were rather older, too.'

'Indeed? How old?'

'Flowing white beard and severe spectacles.' The two laughed, and Albus definitely wasn't going to tell Gellert that he'd presumed him for a girl.

'So, tell me,' Albus said instead, 'if we can't discuss these Hallows-'

'-What other Exceptions have I found that cannot be performed?' Gellert finished, his cheeky, almost devilish, grin never leaving his face.

'Cannot be performed by _you.' _Albus corrected, smiling lightly.

'I am thinking that the brain is a subject most underexplored.' Gellert said simply, and placed tea and bread and butter on the table between their two seats with a gentle series of clinks.

'The brain can be physically transfigured with ease, shrunk, enlarged, or switched. Of course, knowledge cannot be transported from brain to brain, as Gamp stated, but memories can be removed, modified and replaced-'

'Yes yes,' Gellert waved this off, 'but I am thinking more of the brains subconscious functions – what of dreams, for example?'

'There is an incantation for dreamless-'

'Dumbledore, I do wish you would not treat this as a teaching session – I am well aware of the enchantments that exist, thank you very much.' Gellert said, rather shortly.

'And I do wish that you would cease interrupting me.' Albus said, retaining his calm, friendly manner. If it had been Aberforth he was speaking with, his patience would have been much shorter. But Gellert was different. Equal.

Gellert gave Albus an odd look, as though appraising him, then his face split once more into a grin. 'No harm done, eh? Now, you were saying?'

'If you can locate the 'dream centre' of the brain, so to speak, in order to prevent the occurance of dreams, would it not make sense that spells can be developed to stop or edit dream content?'

'So little is known about dreams, except that they are a very complex issue, and if, by your logic, you can enter someone's dream to experience and influence the content, does the same hold true for their ordinary thoughts? Daydreams? Fantasies?' Gellert's eyes pierced. 'I believe that magic cannot penetrate the depths of the mind, which is _why _we cannot manipulate true love.'

'The spells we have now to delve into the mind, such as the Imperius Curse and Leglimency, could simply be the foundation of what is to come. I would not be so arrogant as to believe that the era of magical progess has ended. After all – they are beginning to teach literacy at Hogwarts.'

'Oh, has your brute of a school finally caught up with the rest of the world?' Gellert smirked, feigning impression. 'Anyway, the Imperius Curse is inflicted upon the most basic, instinctual part of a man – his behaviour. You could argue that it barely even involves the mind. The same can be said of Leglimency, which allows the caster to extract and view memories which contradict or support the statements being made by the individual. Neither spell can tell the caster anything about the individual's thoughts or do anything to modify them.'

Albus' blood was thundering with the pleasure of the debate. 'Which is why I used them as examples of the basic foundation of what may be to come – if we barely scratch the surface now, who knows how far we will delve in the future?'

'Hmm,' Gellert brushed his curls behind his ears, 'if your theory is that one day all kinds of magic will be performable, then why do you steadfastly maintain Gamp's Principle Exceptions?'

'Because, I think...' Albus trailed off, weighing his words. 'I think humans need basic things to survive. All humans, Muggle or Magical – we are equal. We need food, love, knowledge, a currency to trade with. And magic cannot provide these things for us, just as nothing can provide these things for Muggles, because we are only human too. The fifth Exception, raising the dead, is simply following the law of all nature.'

This admission seemed to disturb Gellert. 'Equal?' He echoed. 'With _Muggles_?'

'Look past your prejudice for a moment.' Albus spoke patiently. 'We are the same species, we can co-exist, if both Muggles and Magic folk alike put aside their ignorance of the other.'

'Maybe you have something there, at the core we are the same, and we certainly can co-exist. But surely our magic – our might – still puts us above?'

'Gellert,' Albus looked closely at the other boy, 'could you invent, or fathom, electricity? It is a magical energy that passes through metal wires and can be transformed into anything – moving pictures, sound, movement, light or heat. With all your brains and talent, could you do that?'

'I would not need to.' Sniffed Gellert. 'I could simply point my wand. We have the power of a million Muggle devices in one twelve inch stick of wood.'

'So if you had no wand, you would be less than Wizard, less than Muggle, because you cannot see that Muggles simply employ different means for the same ends. And what of the things that Muggles accomplish that Wizardkind cannot?'

'Such things exist?' Gellert raised a brow over his tea.

'Mass transport. The Muggles invented trains, automobiles, and they are on their way to creating flying machines.'

'We have flying carpets.' Gellert said stubbornly.

'A Muggle invention, given the power of flight by magic.' Albus said simply. He felt thrilled to be winning, but Gellert's mind did not seem to be changing, which was disappointing.

'That is irrelevant, anyway.' Gellert waved the point away with a flick of his wrist. 'Let Muggles do the grunt work, and we can refine their inventions with magic, and make them superior. More tea?'

Albus thought that this was a very bad attitude to have, but refrained from saying anything. He hoped to see much more of Gellert and his ideas in the future, and he didn't want to jeapordise that, as the boy seemed a tad hotheaded. Anyway, Albus had dealt with stubbornly prejudiced elders before, and had swayed them with gentle and persistent discussion.

They finished their tea and bread, and Albus was struggling to come up with excuses to stay longer. He eventually could stall no more with half-hearted questions of the Hallows, and was soon shooed home by a Gellert who was enthusiastic to hear what Albus thought.

'You must owl as soon as you have finished!' Gellert called, standing at the door waving madly at Albus' retreating form.

Albus trudged home, impressed with the boy who matched him in wit and talent. Gellert's enthusiasm and passion were so much an integral part of him, where in Albus they were so separate from him, to be called upon at will, and which lay dormant the rest of the time. It seemed as though the world, which had crushed Albus into his role, was still wide open and gleaming bright for Gellert. Gellert had somehow rejected, or thrown off, the biggest pressure placed upon those as clever as they, the pressure to grow up far too quickly.


End file.
